The search for the next Pussycat Doll: Since when did showing your confidence mean dancing like a hoochie?

Saw this on David Spade's show the other night and was thrilled when my sis e-mailed me the clip. It summarizes my thoughts on the Pussy Cat show perfectly. The only problem is that I watch it religiously. I even have a TiVo season pass! Sure I laugh when the women talk about showing their "confidence" by dancing like a stripper, but at the same time I have strong opinions for who should stay and who should go. (Sisley bugged, and Asia drives me nuts!)



I need to find the clip where the girls are taught about expressing their "persona". I want to think Robin (the host and creator of the group) means "personality" but I don't think she does.

The show reminds me a bit of the search for the next Coyote Ugly girl. You may remember me questioning why a woman would go on a reality show to see if she could be a slutty bartender. Both shows beg the question: Is it empowering for a woman to put her body on a platter and act like a stripper? For that matter, are actual strippers empowered, or by the very nature of what they are doing, are they being exploited?

I would say live and let live, but I am scared for young girls who are constantly inundated with the message that dancing means rubbing your nether regions against anything you can (I call this the "heat-seeking ass dance") and being confident means having the ability to dance half naked behind a glass wall.

Not that this perfectly fits, but this topic sent me looking for a version of our conclusion that didn't make it into the book. I have had an issue with the Pussycat Dolls (even their name is all wrong) for a while now.

Stop the Girl on Girl Hate Crimes

As Shelly Ridenour’s essay “We Should’ve Seen It Coming: The Commercialization of Cattiness points out, one need only look at the T-shirts (“I stole your boyfriend” or “Do I make you look fat?”) worn by the likes of Paris Hilton for sale in the back of female-oriented magazines, or listen to songs like “Don’t Cha (wish your girlfriend was hot like me?)” to get what we mean by the girl-on-girl hate. It’s as if we have reverted to cavewoman times and are fighting to get a man, or keep one. Where would the wedding industry or reality TV be without this? Marriage is winning, and if there are winners, then there are also losers. And even if you’ve snagged a man, the size of your ring/reception/registry is going to determine your place in the pecking order.

Throughout popular culture women are seen as man-stealers, bitches who sink their claws into men and manipulate them. There was Team Angelina and Team Jennifer, but why did Brad escape culpability? Jennifer Aniston and Angelina Jolie were extensively profiled in women’s mags as two extremes of females, with Brad as their victim. Angelina was the overt seductress and ultimate earth mother; Jennifer, the girl next door too caught up in her career to have children. One woman we spoke with had seen her brand new marriage crash and burn when her husband had an affair with her best friend. She hates her ex-BF, but has forgiven her ex-husband and maintains a friendly relationship with him. Sure, she says, he wasn’t entirely innocent, but she puts the blame on her former friend. Why do guys get a pass like this? If guys are that dumb and easily conned, why are we wasting our time wanting to marry them!?


Much is written about the difficulty of having choices. Studies show that give a consumer four types of jelly and she can easily pick one. Give that same consumer 24 choices and she’ll leave the store frustrated and empty-handed, unable to make up her mind. Today women do have more choices than ever before, at least on the surface. Recent articles have asked the question of whether choice is a good thing. Are women happier? Do too many choices lead to regrets, guilt about the path not taken and ultimately to books like The Mommy Wars and To Hell With All That? Or is the problem not that we have the choices but that our decisions are not respected by other women? When is the last time you heard a man trashing a life decision made by another man? They shrug their shoulders and move on. Why do women hate on each other so much? Do we feel bad about ourselves and find it easier to put someone else down than raise ourselves up?

Of course the media and advertisers love how unhappy women keep each other, because that’s all the more headlines they can write about the “Sex Secrets You Must Know,” and all the more “miracle” creams that they can convince you to shell out big bucks for to prevent yourself from, god forbid, aging.

When all is said and done I still sing along to their music and I still have the show TiVo'd, so I guess I am an aware hypocrite. In fact, that label could apply to me in many ways. Depressing. But the show is soooo gooood.

Purity Balls: The new pre-engagement party?

Scott T passed along this article to me about young girls pledging to their fathers to remain virgins. All I can say is "ew" and "creepy." Not that there is anything wrong with deciding to remain a virgin until marriage, but do we need to pledge such personal decisions at a ball with white cake and limousine service?

In what is becoming a trend among conservative Christians in the United States, girls as young as nine are pledging to their fathers to remain virgins until they wed, in elaborate ceremonies dubbed "Purity Balls."

The gala affairs are intended to celebrate the father-daughter relationship.

The highlight is when the fathers and daughters exchange vows, with dad signing a covenant to protect his daughter's chastity by living an unblemished life and the daughter promising not to have sex until marriage.

Many fathers at the ceremonies also slip "purity rings" around the finger of their misty-eyed daughters or offer them "chastity bracelets" and other jewelry that the girls can entrust to their husbands on their wedding night.

"The father makes a pledge that he is going to keep his mind pure and be faithful to her mother and there is also a time when there is a conversation about putting the right kinds of things in your mind, such as the father not using pornography," Leslee Unruh, founder of Abstinence Clearinghouse, a leader in the so-called purity movement, told AFP in describing the balls.

She said some 1,400 Purity Balls were held across the United States in 2006, mainly in the south and midwest, and double that number were expected to take place this year.

I feel bad that I laughed when I read this:

One study conducted by researchers at the universities of Columbia and Yale found that 88 percent of pledgers wind up having sex before marriage.

"Unfortunately these young people tend, once they start to have sex, to have more partners in a shorter period of time and to use contraception much less than their non-pledging peers," said Debra Hauser, executive vice president at Advocates for Youth, a Washington-based non-profit organization.

It's just like those kids that didn't get into any trouble in high school then get to college and go crazy.

Random question: why would anyone include the word "Balls" in the name of a virginity event?
Question for you: what would you call this if it were an MTV show a la, "My Super Sweet Sixteen"?

Make new friends, but keep the old

Not sure if any of you remember this rhyme from the Brownies, but it goes: "Make new friends but keep the old, one is silver and the other gold." It comes to mind today because I just left my cat, Phoebe at the vet today. She is jaundiced, on an IV drip and getting a "complete work-up."

I have three pets. First I got Ernest. Five years later Tommy and I adopted Phoebe (the grey kitty) and last Labor Day we adopted Stella.

For a few years it was just me and Ernest against the world. No boyfriend, no cable and no internet. We would hang out in my single apartment and pass the hours watching television on my sad black and white tv with rabbit ears. Then I got Phoebe and she quickly became the alpha kitty in the house. She and Ernest get along, but he prefers his solitude. Phoebe was always on the couch with me, and when I worked at the kitchen table she would sit on the chair next to me.

Then I got Stella. Dogs are major attention-hogs. Beyond going out for walks I found that I liked having her with me whenever possible. We go shopping together, to the dog park, to coffee, to lunch. Anywhere she can go, she goes. She commands more attention than the cats, and I give it to her. I hate to say that the cats have slipped a rung, but they sort of have.

About a month after my friend, J, had her baby, her cat got really sick and passed away within a week of going to the vet. J felt terrible. She felt like had she not had her baby she would have noticed earlier symptoms and possibly saved her kitty's life. At the time I could not understand how anyone could possibly forget about a pet.

Cut to me at the vet, unable to tell him about Phoebe's eating patterns. I had no idea if she was eating less, drinking less, or using the facilities less. I did notice that she had taken to hiding in my guestroom closet, but I thought it was to get away from Gemma, my friend's dog who is staying with us. I only took her to the vet because for the second time in a month she went to the bathroom on my bed. This time I woke up feeling damp. Phoebe was next to me on the bed. I made her smell the pee. I was angry and thought she was letting me know that she was not a fan of the other dog that has been staying here.

Now that I know she is ill I feel terrible. I bet she was sitting next to the pee to let me know that it was her, and not Ernest, who was peeing on my bed. She was probably trying to get it through my thick skull that she felt bad. When the vet took one look at her and said "she has jaundice" I knew that this would never have gotten so far had it still been just me and the cats.

So I am going to take some time today to check in on friends I have lost touch with and family who I haven't spoken to in a while. It's too easy to get caught up in our daily lives. We're all busy and it's all too easy to not call a friend back, or to miss a birthday. I don't want it to take somebody getting sick for me to take the time to pay attention to them.

I just wish it hadn't taken me getting pee'd on to learn this lesson. Get well, Pheebs.

Back in action!!

I have received some inquiries as to why I have not been posting, leaving all of the work to Erin, who has plenty on her plate without a lazy co-blogger. Well I wish i could say that i have been on a fab vacation or even swamped with writing gigs. Unfortunately I've been here...and not crazy busy......just a bit, uh lazy? Here is a rundown of my past month or so:

1. My friend, Viv moved in with me while she looked for a job and apartment. She just left NYC and girlfriend worked fast. In about two weeks she got a job and a beautiful place.

2. Viv's dog, Gemma moved in with her. Gemma is a pug and the most un-pug-like pug I've ever met. She is full of energy and can hike step for step with Stella.

3. I sprained my ankle...twice. So the fist day that Gemma moved in I decided to take the dogs on an extra walk. I wanted to clear my head and, as a devout Cesar Milan disciple, I thought that walking Gemma and Stella together would help them to form a pack, and therefore not kill each other when we're gone. Things were going well. I was on the phone, chatting away one minute and on the ground, shrieking into the phone the next. I followed the R.I.C.E formula (Rest, Ice, Compression, Elevation) and tried to go easy for a few days. I figured that there was no reason for a doctor's visit because that would be lame. Who goes to the doctor for a sprained ankle, right? About a week later I went hiking with Viv and the pups. We took the hard route and discussed our need to start a regular exercise regime. Then, at the top of the hike, Runyon Canyon if you happen know it, the same thing happened as before: I was up and happy, then I was down and in agony. I was faced with a choice: wait at the top for viv to go down the hill, get the car and drive around to the top of Mulholland, or walk down. I walked down. One word: OW. I went to the doctor and got a brace and he said that you should always get a sprain checked out because often the sprain is a break and you don't know it. He also said that if a sprain doesn't have time to heal properly it could become a lifelong "weak ankle."

4. I made my television debut! It hasn't aired yet, but I was a guest on the
Gregory Mantell show. I think I did well, but I will let you folks in LA, San Diego and NYC be the judges of that. As soon as I know when it's airing I'll be sure to post about it, and have it on our site. Gregory had totally read the book, asked good questions and made it a great experience for me. I'm glad that I have done TV but I don't think I'll be able to watch it because I would end up getting lip injections and botox. Seriously, after seeing a glimpse of myself on video I totally got why celebs go botox-crazy.

That's about it for me. What's up with you?

Thank goodness for Charmin!

A lot about our society is not so great....but you know what is great? Toilet Paper! This is part of a larger story on the origin of toilet paper. Click on the link above to read the full story, and thanks to Scott T for passing this along to me. Oh, and Happy Friday!

What did people use before toilet paper was invented?

*Newsprint, paper catalogue pages in early US

*Hayballs, Scraper/gompf stick kept in container by the privy in the Middle Ages

*Discarded sheep's wool in the Viking Age, England

*Frayed end of an old anchor cable was used by sailing crews from Spain and Portugal

*Medieval Europe- Straw, hay, grass, gompf stick

*Corn cobs, Sears Roebuck catalog, mussel shell, newspaper, leaves, sand- United States

*Water and your left hand, India

*Pages from a book, British Lords

*Coconut shells in early Hawaii

*Lace was used by French Royalty

*Public Restrooms in Ancient Rome- A sponge soaked in salt water, on the end of a stick

*The Wealthy in Ancient Rome-Wool and Rosewater

*French Royalty-lace, hemp

*Hemp & wool were used by the elite citizens of the world

*Defecating in the river was very common internationally

*Bidet, France

*Snow and Tundra Moss were used by early Eskimos

Marriage is Murder

I still haven't seen Court TV's new show "'Til Death Do Us Part," about real life couples who get married and vow love and honor and all that. The hitch is that one of the happily wedded duo will end up killing the other one. But I loved Rebecca Mead's Talk of the Town piece on John Waters, who hosts the show as the narrator/Groom Reaper. Among the fun facts I learned:

1. John Waters is a Universal Life Minister who officiates weddings for the fee of $7.

2. Johnny Depp and Winona Ryder were thisclose to getting hitched.

I was thisclose once to introducing my dad to John Waters, back when I was covering the Ft. Lauderdale Film Festival. Dad & Mom had come to visit one of my brothers, who was living in Florida then, and it happened to coincide with my press trip. My dad had no idea who John Waters was, but I'm sure if the elevator had come just a moment later, it would have been very memorable.

John Waters' thoughts on marriage, as discussed in this week's New Yorker:
“This is a pro-divorce show,” Waters explained. “The viewer might have wanted to kill his wife right before this show, because who hasn’t? That’s why I am single. Someone thought up an ad campaign for the show—‘Stay single and stay alive’—which I love...I always thought the privilege of being gay is that we don’t have to get married or go in the Army,” he said. “I personally have no desire to imitate a fairly corny, expensive heterosexual tradition, though I certainly know gay couples who are married who should be. I am all for it. I have always joked that the growth industries are gay divorce and tattoo removal.”

In spite of his occasional willingness to play the ministerial role, Waters says that he hates going to weddings. “I am hoping that one of the best things that will happen if this show is a success is that people will stop inviting me,” he said. “Weddings are never fun. You cannot have that much fun with your friends and your family all together, spending that much money."

The Annals of Being a Bridesmaid #5: OUR WINNER!

Thanks to everyone who entered our contest. We received some amazingly bad/fabulous tales and will continue to roll them out in the coming months, just as wedding season kicks in. (And if you have any new tales you've got to share, keep 'em coming. We always love to hear from you.) In the meantime, we wanted to share the winning entry, in all its cringe-worthy glory:

Looking back, I should have known I was in for trouble when Sidney* asked me to be her bridesmaid. You see, I was a second choice bridesmaid. Her first choice got pregnant and literally couldn't stand up. Because I was asked a mere two weeks before the wedding I had to buy the dress that the original bridesmaid purchased. I paid $275 for the dress, which was 4 sizes too big. Then we all had to wear sliver platform open toed shoes (another $75.00) Our toes and nails were manicured to have purple butterflies on them ($60.00) and our bouffant up-dos had to match exactly ($50.00) If that wasn't bad enough, the tacky-ass bride insisted we wear pantyhose with our open toed shoes.

Then Sidney got caught screwing the groomsman (her fiance’s little brother who was supposed to be my escort down the aisle) in the limo before the ceremony. Unbelievably, the wedding was still on but since the groomsman was kicked out, my bridesmaid services were no longer needed because God forbid there be an uneven number of bridesmaids to groomsmen.

My grand total for the privilege of not walking down the aisle and having to attend the reception in a heinous dress? $460.00 + the other cash I spent on the shower and bachelorette.. And I didn't even get the cheap, ugly jewelry gift...she gave it to the original bridesmaid who backed out.

The cost of her husband coming out of the closet last year? Priceless.

*NOT HER REAL NAME

Congratulations to Christina Courser! We hope she buys something really nice for herself with that gift card, courtesy of Random House. And ladies remember: You don't have to be a bridesmaid just because someone asks you.

In the immortal words of Nancy Reagan, just say "no."

The Annals of Being a Bridesmaid #4

Another entry from our best of collection. Despite the description, this is one where we wished she had also sent in a picture!

No one at my friends' wedding looked like anything out of “The Wedding Crashers!” Why do all movies about weddings portray the bridal party as randy co-eds ready for their lessons in sexual exploration? Trust me, the only exploration I felt like doing after seeing what the beautician at the parlor had done to my face and hair was to find a weapon that I could assault her with and then turn it on myself to put me, and everyone who was viewing my new face, out of misery.



Now I began by telling this competent cosmetologist that my hair was different than anything she had probably ever encountered. I actually had three separate types of hair on my head. On the sides of my face, above my ears, the strands were smooth and almost straight. I didn’t disclose that the reason for this oddity amongst the rest of my nappy roots was due to the fact that since I was coordinated enough to manipulate my digits I had a nervous habit of twirling my hair in those spots. To this day, I am known to get two big strands on both sides of my head going, twirling faster and faster depending on how hard I’m concentrating, until it appears that I might take flight.



Now, for the second part of my hair, we will be moving towards the back of my head around the nape of my neck. The hair that lines my neck is nice, soft and wavy. It has been shielded from the torturous rays of the sun and has had the benefit of years of hibernation, protected from the elements by the enormous mass that lies above. What does in fact lie above has amazed friends and acquaintances alike for all my life. One observer mentioned that it actually required its’ own zip code. The best way to describe it is to say that if you could genetically combine the hair from a horse, a wire-haired fox terrier, and a kitchen broom, you might have a close resemblance to what type of stuff inhabits the crown on my head.



Now that my beautician had received the full follicle story she could begin her masterpiece. She assured me that she had handled many a head of hair like mine and dove into my coif with gusto and determination (ok, is it just me or did that just sound like a lesbian porn reference?) She began by working from the bottom up, which worried me as I began to have visions of mushroom-like clouds of wiry strands whose results could, if not wearing radioactive protection gear, at least make you nauseous. She quickly realized that this was not the accurate route through the rat maze of hair and started over. Now the whole process of attempting a new attack only to abandon all hope was repeated again and again. Each time the bush on top of my head grew in so many dimensions I was certain that Buckaroo Banzai was now crossing over into my hair.



When she got out the black orthodontic rubber bands I didn’t know if she planned to employ them in the up-doo or sadistically place them on my nipples for a little diversion. Puzzlement solved: into the bush they went. Now these bands are used to force permanent teeth to shift within a person’s jaw. There what you might call the “Mighty Mouse” or rubber bands. I guess my hair artist figured that if these little suckers were strong enough to correct dental problems, it would surely hold my tresses as she wished. And, after about 3-100 count bags of these suckers, my hair had in fact begun to behave. The problem was that it was behaving like an orc helmet from the prop department of LOTR.



Now that the “up-doo” had officially become an “up-don’t” we moved on to the makeup. Suffice it to say that I don’t normally wear makeup. The only time I put on makeup is when I’m going to Rocky Horror or the final (and they really mean it this time!) KISS concert. This time the make-up artist really had her work cut out for her. She started with a lovely translucent base, applied a matte coat of powder to reduce the shine and then outlined my “entrancing” eyes with some sort of tiny brush dipped in liquid that must have been stored in the freezer. She then completed the look with some colors on my eye lids to add luster and an overall bronzer to blend and bring the look together.



She brought something together alright. What it looked like was the unholy matrimony of the Caucasian-midget version of Rue Paul and “The Thing” in drag. Of course everyone told me it wasn’t as bad as I thought but their words didn’t carry much credibility considering they were about to toss their champagne.



Ah well, I thought, I put on my celadon/celery/sea foam dress with spaghetti straps and an empire waist and moved about like I was royalty. Less like Queen Elizabeth and more like Henry the 8th mind you, but none the less royal. Before the music began at the church I grabbed my friend, the bride’s arm and said to her, “Well, this is it, are you ready?” to which she replied, “How can I not be! They always say, ‘with a good man by your side, you can get through anything’, well, today it looks like I’ve got a good man on both sides, so I’m golden!” Neither of us could laugh for fear of turning into Alice Cooper-look-alikes, so we choked back the tears and strutted down the isle.



Later I told my friend that it was my entire plan from the beginning. I knew she wanted to look good that day and all eyes would be upon her and her beauty...

The Annals of Being a Bridesmaid #3

WARNING: C'mon, there's not a woman out there who hasn't had an "accident." But still, we don't advise reading this one while eating.

We called this one "SUNDAY BLOODY SUNDAY." Thanks to the reader who sent this in--it made for an extra laugh at our book party that our friend Will read it.

Aug 14th 2005: a day that will live in infamy.

I was a bridesmaid in my brothers’ wedding, which just happened to also be the hottest day of the year. I woke up that day sick with the flu, and lucky me, started my period. It took all my energy just to get dressed in my very pale yellow bridesmaid’s dress and head out to the ceremony, an hour’s drive away.

It was hot and humid-- the kind of heat where you just can’t breathe. The wedding started and I was just beginning my trek down the aisle when I heard my mother whisper loudly:

“Barb! There’s blood on your dress. There’s BLOOD on your dress!”

So of course I freak out. I didn’t know what to do. There was blood all over the butt of my dress, and 200 people to witness it. I literally wanted to die right on the spot. The other bridesmaids wouldn’t let me run away. Instead, they just put a shawl around me, which only added to the sweat that was dripping down my cleavage, and I had to stand there for over 10 minutes till the vows were over.

Let’s just say after that, I ran to my car and went home. But I still have stains in my car that remind me every day of one of the worst days of my life.

New show about nuptial nutters

I just heard about this show, The Wedding Bells which totally surprises me because I like to justify all my hours of television watching as "research," and for me not to have heard of this until now makes me think I need to up the hours I dedicate to my studies. Or maybe I haven't heard of this because I have been watching MTV almost exclusively: Two a Days, My Super Sweet 16, Maui Fever, Dance Fever I can't get enough.

The show is about three sisters who run a "lavish" wedding facility. I don't know about you, but when I hear "reception facility" I do not think "lavish." I think "factory" and "cheesy."

The main reason I wanted to mention this show is because the article that reviewed it was called "Bridezillas are funny! Not." How tired is that "not" joke? A while back there was a funeral for the word "def" and I think it's time that the "blah blah blah. Not!" joke is similarly buried.

That said, I will TiVo this show and add it to my "research" hours. If you want to check it out, it has the stellar spot of Friday nights on Fox.

Do Men Get Hit by the Bridal Wave?

I've been wanting to write something about this for a long time, ever since I talked to my old friend Bay about the book last summer and told him my big news. ("You're abandoning me!" was his response.)


Then a reader named Annie wrote in to share some links from Odd Todd. In particular, we loved his rant on the online wedding gift registry:

So today I went online to buy a wedding gift for a wedding I went to months ago. I went to weddingchannel.com and found where the couple was registered. That was the easy part. Then it got like annoying and headachey. Here's a listing of the stuff that annoyed or bothered me:

1. I went to the wedding by myself and I don't really know how much I'm supposed to spend. People say, 'Whatever it costs per plate is approximately what should be spent for the gift. But how am I supposed to know how much they paid per plate? Is that number printed if you turn the dinner plate upsidedown or something? WTF? I never had a wedding! I don't know what stuff costs! And you can't call up the bride and say, 'Hey! What was the dollar amount per plate for your shindig?' Right?

2. When choosing off a registry sometimes things feel too random. Like say 3 forks and a butter knife fits my budget but nobody has bought the spoons or the knives or the other forks and it's months after the wedding-- would they really want just the three lone forks and a butter knife if there's a chance no other forks and stuff aren't gonna be bought?

3. If I buy something that's like leftover registry scraps because it's months later (like a gravy boat saucer or whatever) it feels extra impersonal and lazy. I know the couple wants stuff off the registry but doesn't the extra leftover stuff make for a weird thank you note? Like, 'Hey! Thanks for the gravy boat saucer! Every time the gravy spills out of the boat we'll be thankful it's not on the tablecloth! Thanks to you! We love it!' People can't treasure a gravy boat saucer. Right?

4. The shipping charge is sort of a factor. Like let's say I want to spend $100 on a gift and shipping is $15.00. Now it's $115 I'm spending technically. I get mad that the place is ripping me off that way but it feels weird to drop down to $85 to make up the difference. Even though technically it should be ok maybe or something. Or not.

When we were writing the book, we made an editorial decision not to include the male perspective.But there many men we met who said being single at a certain age is hard for them, too: if you have a substantial relationship history, clearly you are a commitment-phobe, if your relationship history is somewhat lacking, you are clearly gay.

We have guy friends who either a) went along with an engagement (they bought the ring even though they never exactly "asked") without ever actually thinking about, oh, you know, spending the rest of their life with that person or b) went ahead and got married because it seemed easier than breaking up, and then promptly got divorced before their first anniversary.

I've got a friend whose boyfriend just has three high school friends get engaged and he's panicking himself. (About what, we wonder: That his GF may start dropping "hints" or that he's going to lose all his friends to Club Wedd or is it actually existential--like where am I in my life and should I be doing this, too?) Then I've got another guy friend who had the good sense to break off an engagement but now worries he might be single forever. Then there's my friend who's been single so long that he seems unable to have a relationship beyond a few months because he is so set in his ways that he doesn't want to compromise at all. He thinks he wants to settle down, but as soon as something becomes relationshippy, with expectations about Friday nights together and etc., he's out.

What do you think? Are men as hard hit by the Bridal Wave?

If so, why is it that when you go to a wedding with a guy you are dating, when the question "So what about you two, are you going to get married?" is lobbed, it is always directed at women?

Did Diddy punch my landlord?

So I am watching my "Daily 10" on E! when I hear a story about Diddy being under investigation for punching out a guy....then they say the guy's name and it is my landlord, Gerard Rechnitzer!!!!! I feel so one degree from Puffy!